when you (can) say nothing at all...

Bypassing any romantic implications the title may have and coming straight to the point, it's getting difficult to brush your teeth in peace and solace.
I am not even talking about the no-show of Coriolis Effect in the collecting ,stagnant waters . Right. Ewww.

Barely awake, I float off to the Confluence of Brushing People and wiggle between million elbows to subject my teeth to the second half of the morning maxim, that is, SHINE. When a certain over-chatty conspirator decides to make the most out of the assembled crowd and hold an early morning Election Poll right there. The poll question that I have to apparently answer is
" Who are you voting for".

I am (literally) foaming and frothing at the mouth and thus rendered speechless, preventing me from giving a fitting reply ( Batman, in this case), and E.C has to back off, disappointed .
Meanwhile I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Tooth Fairies, for early morning Poli-themed conversations are super-bugging.
Poli is not even a welcome topic in the afternoon, evening or night for that matter.

There are other times when one might be speech-deprived.

One is when people breaks stupidity records and coolly and confidently state the fact that a swine is undoubtedly, a type of an insect.

Or when the Prof who looks EXACTLY like a lion tamer ( complete with chinese mafiaesque moustaches and metaphoric whip- weird assignments ) ends every sentence of his with a HA-HA-HA. The HA-HA-HA is not any staid HA-HA-HA; it starts at B-flat 2, slides off into F2 before fading dramatically into silence. Tears, yes, tears stream down as you are bent triple from the task of not being able to ROFL properly.

But it is unexpected news like FOUR STRAIGHT HOLIDAYS which makes the thorax stutter with emotion and manage only a poor WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE in response, that takes the cake for the awesomest speechless moments of the past few days.

Sixty Minutes

This was the hour that elapsed between 6 am to 7 am (on my birthday) that I shall never, never recover from. It started with The Troublemaker dragging me unceremoniously to the LBS grounds. Barely awake, my poor brain was addled by a string of sweeping statements- discoursed with the air of Aristotle by ofcourse, the Troublemaker.

'We will go back at sharp 7 am.'

'It is so hot.'

'Damn, it sooo very hot.'

'I am hungry.'

Each statement hit me like a vicious bullet. I feebly tried to plug my ears, but the sonic boom was unrelenting. When the killer of the lot- 'Let us take a round of LBS' hit home, I felt my heartbeat shift to a lower gear.

Well, if you would have sent for the doctor then ,I am sure he would have given up the case as one for the 'I'm Still Alive' series. The poignant point was that I would be slipping into my hearse on my very birthday. Agreed -my biographer would have it easier to put down my age as a Perfect Twenty -but it still seemed unfair to me.

I was dying, but I was to come out of it alive

The interesting part comes HERE. . This would be one of those Near-Death experiences for I had slipped into the transient space from where the Dead depart to either heaven or hell.

I had technically zoned out, but I knew I wasn't dead and somehow I wasn't worrying about it anymore. A beautiful song was playing in the background and it was a long time before I snapped away from the music and looked around. I was in the middle of a passage.

It was then that I felt Uplifted. The meaning to Life, The Universe and Everything became clear...the music ebbed away and the passage turned dark even as a blurry symbol appeared at the end of the passage. The suspense rose to a crescendo as the image sharpened and a number glowed in the dark.

42!

Taking cue, a pacy soundtrack began to play and then an imperciptible swish of curtains...and I felt myself thrown out of the passage, hurtling faster and faster, unconscious...

...and then found myself lying on the ground ...I was alive. I had survived.

The Troublemaker insists all this is BULLSHIT and that I had merely fallen down as a result of the kick-in-my-shins she had just administered to me. I maintain my version of the story, feeling a little smug for I, and only I possess the Answer.

P.S.: It was FB that named P.S as The Troublemaker and though not unopposed to the general meaning it suggests, I beg pardon. Besides its ALL a joke.